


Part One: Enter the Flame

by jonprenticebooks



Series: Once Upon Another Place [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Inspired by Once Upon a Time (TV), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-11 06:30:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5616976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonprenticebooks/pseuds/jonprenticebooks





	1. It Started with a Knock

Henry woke early on the morning that was always peculiar to him. It had been ten years since the horrible event happened. There had been so many adventures that he captured on the pages of the books that lined the den in the manor that had been given to him by his grandmother, Snow White.

The years seemed to blend together, although with many episodes of memory loss and evil magic at play how could they not be. He managed to come through that period of time by doing what he knew best, being an author. The books were filled with true accounts of adventures that he witnessed first hand and later were recounted for him from the brave souls that returned.

As he swung his feet over the bed, his toes danced on the wooden floor. He had been meaning to buy a carpet for this part of the bedroom but money was tight. Although he was technically of noble blood he refused to accept that he deserved more than the next person. The manor in which he lived was the only true hint at his connections in the kingdom.

The woman in the bed was still asleep and Henry did not want to wake her. Juniper was the local teacher in the village that he had been living in for the past year. They had met at the local tavern a few nights back and had been spending every minute together since. He was the truest believer in love at first sight. A smile crept on his face as he remembered the passion he experienced last night with her.

Life had been challenging since he first moved to this village. It was a month’s travel from the palace where his family lived and just on the edge of the Enchanted Forest. The village was know for it’s magic wishing well, at least it used to be know for the well. Since he had moved in, the well began to dry up and not a single wish was remotely coming true.

Henry crept from the room dancing his toes on the cold floor as he dressed for the day. With Juniper sleeping over they had ended up sleeping with not many clothes on. It was a mistake on these cold winter days as getting out of bed would always be a challenge. Today he forced himself to do this, as it was a day he was always restless and awoke earlier than the sun.

The fire in the kitchen had been reduced to mere embers by the time Henry was stirring and finally dressed. Grabbing his red scarf he headed out into the backyard to retrieve wood. He stopped at the kitchen door and held the cloth between his fingers. The fabric seems to tickle the memories of the past, trials and tribulations mostly but also happy times.

After an hour of cursing and hard work, all the fireplaces in the manor had been lit and warmth crept through the walls. Pictures of family and friends decorated many of the empty spaces, he may live far from them but he always kept a reminder of loved ones nearby.

With Juniper still sleeping upstairs Henry decided to venture into the den. He always kept the tradition on this day. The day he read the stories of his father and kept his memory alive. It was a difficult times for him as he barley new his father, Baelfire, and the fact that when he finally met him there were times of memory loss and alternate realities at play. 

He was now 25 years old and had spent the last year building a life for himself without the interference of his family. It had been almost 6 or 7 years since they finally defeated the darkness and returned to the Enchanted forest, leaving Storybrooke behind.

He was still charged with the task of being the author and took this profession very seriously. The den in which he now sat was filled with leather bound books. The fire made the light dance across the bookshelves of memories as he recalled all the stories in which he wrote and ones that started him on this journey.

He loved all the stories but cherished the ones in which he was a part of, no matter how painful some of the might have been. He had come a long way since then. Henry did not care to think of the most painful memories but it was hard to keep them at bay, especially on this day.

Getting back to this land was not easy, just as challenging as defeating the darkness that had claimed so many lives. He lost his mother and had to learn to forgive Emma for everything that she had done. Tasks that still stung his heart. He thought that by moving here and distancing himself he would learn to live again, not an easy undertaking.

A task he was damned determined to do.

He closed the book he was reading, the book he always read on this day, the tale of how Emma met his father, Baelfire. 

Knock, knock, knock.

Henry was startled by the noise. Who would be visiting him on a Sunday. The village was usually quiet at this early hour but then again as he was the author it was his duty to record all the tales and adventures of the land and those usually happened at anytime.

He placed the book back on the shelf where he kept the stories of his family, locked behind glass. He cherished these more than any other book. The knocking at the door was becoming persistent as he rounded the corner into the foyer. He placed his hand on the door bracing himself to deal with the next crazy person that wants to tell him a story. Henry opened the door slowly letting the lazy sun of winter tiptoe into his home.

“Good morning sir,” Henry always tried to be polite and courteous to his guest.  
“Henry? Is it really you?” The man removed his hood, showcasing a face that had scarred his memories.  
“Dad? It can’t—you’re dead.” 

To be continued…


	2. At the Author's Table

Henry stared at his father. Was this a trick? It had been so long since he had seen him, and even then the memory is fuzzy. It was not possible. The reality of the situation was hurting his head this early in the morning and all he wanted to do was finish his morning tea.

“Henry, son.” Baelfire reach forward and embraced his son that he had longed to see. 

The embrace felt foreign and strange to Henry as he kept his arms to his side. He had dealt with the deal of his father many years ago and did not need these feelings to well up in him again.

“What?!?!” Henry pushed this foreign man away from him leaving him back outside. “You are dead, unless this is a trick, did I not pay back Barnabus cause I told him I would have his money by the first of the week and I am good for it.”

“It is not a trick,” Baelfire steadied his eyes to rest on that of his sons. “I have traveled across worlds to find you and I haven’t got much time, can I come in?” Without waiting for an answer Henry’s supposed father pushed past him and enter the space that was now warm with the fires of the early morning.

Henry stood at the door, one hand on the handle and the other outstretched in exasperation. He had left his family behind on purpose; they always seemed to get into trouble. Fate it would seem was not about to let him rest.

Baelfire disappeared out of view from Henry, which made him nervous. The strange man just welcomed himself in and claimed something that should not be possible. Henry had seen many amazing things and had been told many incredible stories, but this one was too close to home and for lack of a better word impossible.

“Wait, you can just waltz into my home and make yourself comfortable,” Henry slammed the door chasing after the strange man. He immediately regretted the action remembering that Juniper was still asleep in his bed; he hoped that she would not wake. He hadn’t quite mentioned to her yet his past nor who is family was, it was something he had meant to do but did not want her to think of him differently. He was the author and that was all she needed to know for now.

As he rounded the corner into the den, the firelight flicked intermingling with the early morning rays of sun. He could her the man muttering under his breath.

“Where is it?” Baelfire rummaged through the countless stories that were bound in leather upon the shelves. “Ah, there you are,” he said looking at the book locked behind the glass.

“That is my personal collection, as the author of the realms I demand you respect my wishes and state your business.” Henry had become better at asserting his authority over the years and only used his title and nobility when absolutely needed. It was absolutely needed.

“I haven’t the time to argue with you,” Baelfire outstretched his hand toward the cabinet as the glass door popped open allowing the book that was being searched for to glide into the man’s hand.

“I—what the hell is going on? The man I knew as my father did not poses such magic. If you claim to be him I would start explaining yourself.” Henry used this opportunity of confrontation to position himself in the room near his display of sword his grandfather, Prince Charming, bestowed to him on his 21st birthday.

“Why don’t you have a seat,” Baelfire flicked his wrist has a chair pulled out from the nearby table and Henry was flung into it. “There is no need for swords or self-defense, all will be explained.” The man joined the author at the table.

‘The story I need to tell you is of the death I experienced and the significance of your father’s death,” Bealfire was flipping open the book to the page that Henry was looking at not too long ago. “I am speaking of your father, the Baelfire of this universe, and the man I called papa. It may seem strange but in one fatal instance the life in which was taken from you was also taken from me changing fate and splitting the universe into two.”

Henry sat in utter silence hanging on every word. Even though he was priding himself on not believing this man, he knew that as the author he had developed the ability to tell a true story from a false one, and this was true. The man he called father did in his world and lived in another.

“Henry I need your help.”

To be continued…


End file.
